rendezvous
by gryffindormischief
Summary: Priority one was getting to the Olympics. Now that she's here priority two is still a medal. But chatting up that fit figure skater is a surprisingly close third.


A/N: Priority one was getting to the Olympics. Now that she's here priority two is still a medal. But chatting up that fit figure skater is a surprisingly close third.

* * *

Despite appearances and her utter refusal to participate by actually _taking _the ice, Ginny has always found figure skating an impressive field. The blend of athleticism and grace, the _artistry_.

Also, Harry Potter's tight little bum and bulging thighs don't hurt. She's comfortable enough in her own skin to admit that she bought a copy of the Sports Illustrated with his post-Worlds spread that involved some _tempting_ photographs of him in various states of undress.

It doesn't hurt that she's something of a sucker for his cheeky interviews and that sweet smile he gives the sweepers as they skate past and grab up the stuffed animals and flowers tossed onto the ice. And that doesn't even begin to touch on that wavy dark hair and his emerald eyes that have now just found her in the crowd of the U.K. team members surrounding the rink.

Then he bloody _winks_ at her before striding toward the podium and taking his place at the top of the podium with the rest of the figure skating team. The win was a complete upset, Harry and the ice dancing team each had routines that could feasibly earn top level marks but the rest of the team was expected to hit bronze tier or below.

Then the favorites for each team had one flub after another, slowly ticking down their points until Harry's skate which sealed the U.K. team's space on the podium. And in the end it was _gold _no less.

The team focuses on the flag as it rises, joining in with the instrumental rendition of _God Save the Queen _and Ginny can't help but get swept up in the emotion, glancing at the team's beaming faces and one men's singles skater in particular.

Soon enough, they're spilling out of the stadium in a raucous mass already singing bawdy drinking songs as if revving up for the oncoming celebration. Sadly, Ginny's events are still to come so she's not free to partake in the celebratory libations but a bit of dancing counts as an extra cardio workout, yeah?

She's joined the writhing mass on the impromptu dance floor when a loud cheer ripples across the room in a wave from the door as the last medalists of the day troop in wearing their matching gear.

Eventually, Potter breaks off from the crowd - she's not being _creepy_ the room's not that big - and he moves toward the bar. Ginny wends her way through the pressing bodies and ends up shoulder to shoulder with one Harry James Potter.

"Dipping into the adult beverages?"

"Celebrating a win," Harry says with a shrug.

"_You _still have your individual event," Ginny points out as he accepts the icy bottle with a smile for the bartender, "A bit cavalier, eh?"

"It's low cal - just one drink," Harry says with a dangerous smile, "'Sides I'm not back on the _competition _ice for almost a week."

"What about Moody?"

"Moody doesn't have to know," he says with a grin.

Ginny raises her brows and asks the bartender for a seltzer water with lime.

"Didn't take you for a _tattle tale_."

Accepting her drink, Ginny takes a prim sip from the slim straw and blinks at Harry. "Does this mean you forgo _other _advice for what to avoid pre-competition?"

The thudding bass sets the ice in her drink trembling as Harry shuffles just a bit closer. He tilts his head toward hers, cheek brushing her temple as he murmurs, "I do a cost-benefit analysis."

Smirking, Ginny lets her hand come to rest on his forearm, thumb finding his thrumming pulse. "Sexy."

He throws his head back with a laugh and Ginny takes the opportunity to revel in the flush that's run up his neck. Which leads to examining his earlobe and a rather detailed daydream about nipping at said earlobe. _Damn_ he does not get less attractive up close.

Ginny clears her throat and gestures toward his chest. "So how's the medal feel?"

"Heavy," Harry says simply, tilting his body impossibly closer so his fingertips tease at her elbow.

Without dropping his gaze, Ginny reaches forward and slowly runs her fingers over surface, cataloguing the ridges and swirls. She hums, thoughtful. "It's a classic look."

"I'm not particularly expert with accessorizing."

"Is that so?" Ginny asks, inching closer.

"Might need some - assistance," Harry rumbles out, his lips brushing her ear.

Ginny's breath catches. "I would need to review our options - best to not _over _accessorize."

"Less is more?" Harry murmurs, breath hot against her cheek as his lips slip down the side of her face.

"It's best to ah -" Ginny brings one hand to his hair and toys with his damp waves, "Start from square one - include only the most important elements."

"Are you suggesting a consultation _au naturale?_"

"Just you," Ginny drags her finger over his jawline, "Me," her finger continues its journey south, "And _this_," her finger catches on the medal and tugs forward just enough to bring Harry's mouth to hers.

Before she knows it, Ginny's spilling out into the snow and biting cold with a Gold Medalist Men's Figure Skater hot at her heels, his alcohol tinged exhales fanning at her ear.

"Yours or mine?"

His lips brush her ear as he answers, "My roommate has plans."

They reach a sort of alleyway between two sections of the village and Ginny crowds Harry against the side of one of the stuccoed buildings, the press of their lips rushed and heady. "Good, mine was going to stay in."

His hands grasp her waist as he pulls her against him, their bodies melding together like they're meant for this. Ginny gasps at the cold as he unwinds her scarf and leaves wet, hot kisses down her throat. "Don't get me sick, Potter."

He hums.

"I mean it, I still have most of my events left. Can't disgrace my reputation."

She feels him grin and then suck a damn _hickey _on her collarbone like they're a couple of horny teenagers and she could really - well honestly she's torn between stamping on one of his booted feet and feeling very..._enticed_.

Ginny's fingers tighten in Harry's curls and she pulls his face away from her neck, finding his lips are chapped and just a bit swollen. "I thought we were headed for yours."

"You're a very tempting woman."

"And yet my arse is still _very _cold."

Harry smiles, cheeks rosy from the chill and eyes alight with excitement. "Well, _madame_, we can't have that."

He grabs her hand again and begins tugging her through side passages and on one odd occasion between a couple of near sapling evergreens before he brings them to a halt in front of one of the two person cabins.

While Harry reaches for his keyring, Ginny lets her arms wind around his middle, nuzzling his shoulder and eventually biting at his ear so he fumbles the keys and drops them into the snow.

Blushing and stuttering something unintelligible, Harry stoops to retreive the keys but Ginny reaches them first and shoulders him out of the way, sliding it home and unlocking the door with a _click_ and a smirk.

He flicks her nose.

Once she lets the door fall shut and droops back against it, Ginny lets her laughter shake her shoulders. "You were really buying into that - you were _nervous _about our hookup."

"Excuse me, I just bloody won a gold medal - no taking the mickey."

"But you only have eyes for _me_," Ginny teases, stripping her outerwear and hanging it in the closet next to her competition gear as Harry does the same.

"Stuff it."

She strides across the room and rifles through the chest of drawers to find her pajamas and hums. "You _wish_."

At her wink, Harry clears his throat. "Pardon?"

"Well I'm not risking my own medal for a quick bout on the mattress, Mr Potter," Ginny says, tugging on her flannels and a loose t-shirt swiped from Harry after his last charity marathon.

"_Highly_ superstitious Mrs Potter," Harry answers, teasing as he squeezes a dab of paste on each of their toothbrushes and shoves his in his mouth.

"That's Weasley to you," Ginny shoots back, accepting the proffered toothbrush.

His mouth is frothy when he answers in a low rumble that really should _not _be sexy when he looks rabid, but who said hormones and love were sensible things. "Not in the bedroom it's not."

Ginny spits, gargles, and rinses before she points her toothbrush at Harry like an accusing wand. "The metaphorical bedroom, sure - right now this is strictly literal bedroom, dear," she pauses, "And don't forget we haven't shagged in a week because of _someone_'s team tournament."

They each find their preferred side of the bed - Ginny on the left and Harry on the right - well established after three years of marriage, and tug down the bedspread and sheet. "Well I'll see you in three days."

"Metaphorically," Harry clarifies as they slip into the cold bed.

"Of course," Ginny murmurs, throwing one leg over Harry's hips and tucking her head beneath his chin.

"Guess we can cross two things off the Olympic bucket list," Harry murmurs into her hair before he leaves a chaste kiss on her forehead.

"Mmm your gold medal," Ginny sighs, "Tawdry hook up," Harry pulls her closer as she whispers, "Now I've just got to kick some arse on the halfpipe."


End file.
